Why should the Grateful be grateful?
by UnderachieverAP
Summary: My name is Anya, meaning, yep, 'grateful'. However, I'm having a pretty... not cool life right about now so really, what's there to be grateful for? Well, there is rye bread, the color black, funny words, punk clothes... -This is a story for Anya Bosky, my OC. There won't be much canon, this takes place about 7 years before the series-
1. Chapter 1

I'm Rune. I'm introducing this story. However, I start out as Anya. So, yeah, that's a thing. Just try to keep up with this. This is the past 7 years of my life, at least the important parts.

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><p><em>Name: Anya Bosky<em>

_ Age: 16 years old_

_ Birthday: October 29_

_ Favorite Food: Bubble and squeak_

_ Favorite Color: Black_

I kept filling out the paper labeled 'All About Me!' with the basic information, occasionally adding some sarcastic responses scattered.

_ We are in the 11__th__ grade; filling out worksheets like this should be the last thing we do._

I looked around at my new classmates. In my small school, everyone knew everybody (for the most part). I recognized all the faces in this, my art class. Even on the first day, I'm regretting taking this class. The teacher was one of those who let you do as you please. I had a sinking feeling that art was something I'd not learn in here.

They other classes went the same, save for the childish worksheet. Math, Science, Social Studies, and Language: a routine that I easily fell into. Of all my first days, this was probably the most boring.

An unsuspecting, boring day: what could ever go wrong?

Walking home was never a chore; I enjoyed the cool Russian air that flitted through my clothes. I always took this opportunity to think. Right now I was just focused on my clothes. I chose a grey long sleeve with one of my many torn up black shirts complete with a black skirt and black leggings. Smiling at my array of colors, my mind wondered on. I couldn't wait for this year to be over. The first day and I'm already done with it.

My feet kept pounding on through the thin layer of snow that'd already fallen. I started thinking of whether I still had my good boots when the fresh smell of rye bread hit my nose. Looking, I realized that I was home and rushed in. _Aunt Katya must be back from her trip already._ My aunt was a kind lady, we never talked much, I didn't talk much to anyone, but what she said was always something wonderful. I forced my boots to fly off as I hurried in to get into the welcoming surroundings.

I'd expected to my uncle Ivan sitting with his arm around Katya, my dad welcoming his sister back from her trip, my mom holding a loaf of rye bread, still steaming and wafting delicious air throughout the house.

What I found was my uncle's heaving form engulfed in my mother's arms, my father slumped against the table while hiding his face with his hands, and a loaf of rye bread that gave off the feeling of being sat out a little too long to be fresh right before the chair where Aunt Katya would sit.

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><p>*Author's Note* Hiya~ If you take the time to read this, I'd like to explain a bit. This is my first FanFiction that I've published. My writing style may be a bit... odd, but I'm still working on it. -I also need to work on pacing- This is a background story for my OC Anya Bosky. There won't be any actual DGM until much later, and that'll only be a tiny bit. Us fans know that the series isn't complete (but it is continuing) so I don't want to mess with the canon too much. If, however, the manga is completed in a reasonable amount of time, I will happily write some stuff with her in the actual series ^^<p>

I'd appreciate some feedback and my updates will reflect all (any) feedback I receive. Thank you 4

I do not own -Man, that is thanks to the wonderful Hoshino~

The ideas and plot of this FanFiction, however, stems from my mind.


	2. Chapter 2

I don't know how long I stared at where my aunt should be. I know that by the time I looked around my family hadn't seemed to notice me. _That's good. They probably want to be alone. I think I do._ I was about to sneak quietly to my room when my uncle picked his head up.

His maroon eyes pierced into my brown ones. I always noticed a kind of red tint, like they were burning, a fire inside him that's trying to escape and show itself, but now they were dimmed. The glow seemed like burnt out charcoal. Weak and feeble, even if you hadn't seen his eyes before, his eyes seemed to add a heavy weight to everything.

With sudden realization, I saw they were moving closer to me. I was pulled into a hug by the owner of the burnt out coals and my nose squished against his chest. I could feel him shaking, but not a crying shake, a cold shake. He didn't feel cold, he never did, but despite his warmth, he was shaking so hard. It'd be confusing if you didn't know that his wife just...

"I'm sorry." I understood what he said, but barely. His voice was shaking and cracking, like he surely was. And he was so quiet. I could feel his heart beating. But that made no sense if it was this broken. I twisted my head to the side and gently rubbed his back. It felt a bit awkward, but that faded into the background. I was feeling a lot of things. The more time that passed, the more weight pressed on my chest (Emotional weight, my uncle wasn't squeezing me to death). I pushed the awkward feelings away and focused on my uncle.

"It's okay Uncle Ivan, you don't have anything to apologize for." I felt my eyes brim with tears as I spoke. I wasn't exactly sure what he meant, or what I even meant. From the corner of my eye I saw my mom barely shake her head, I'm not sure why.

My uncle lifted his head to look at me and I was drawn to his eyes his eyes—oh god his eyes. I felt like I could literally see his pain, the tendrils of darkness swirling around his pupils and enclosing on them. And those eyes were shaking s they looked hard at me. He looked like he wanted to argue: with my words, with the world, I bet. Then he seemed to look through me, like there might be an answer looming behind me. Or maybe he was breaking so much that he was malfunctioning. My mom quickly sat him back in his seat and continued to fuss over him, like a good mom would her child. I looked at my dad who still had his head in his hands. Knowing my mom would fuss over Ivan for the next hour before even glancing at him, I sat next to my dad.

Understand me, I don't hate my mom. She just doesn't have that much tact. In her world, there can only be one person hurt at a time. If two siblings had fought, it was the older one's fault and only the little one would be hurt. When there was a wreck, it was only the child that lost their parents that hurt. Not the parents' siblings or even their parents. Unless I hurt, then I'm just being a baby.

From beside me, my dad turned and looked at me. His eyes were focused as he looked at me. I watched his brown eyes, the ones so identical to mine, to see what he was feeling. The whites were turning red. It was unnerving. My dad didn't cry, yet I was looking at the proof. If I looked more, I thought I could still see the tears. The more I stared, the more I felt like some kind of end was coming. I felt like any warmth I had just left my body.

"Anya, why don't you let the adults alone while you go to your room? I can call you back when we've talked more." The motherly voice hits suddenly. Her usually smooth tone sounded sickly. I looked at my mother, who was looking at me with a stern look that said 'Why are you even here?'

Like I said, I don't hate my mom.

I just really dislike her.

"You need to stop treating her like a child. She has to grow up sooner or later. Just let her stay." My dad's gruff voice came suddenly. He spoke clear and steady, like he always does. He's a great actor—something else I got from him. I felt my face relax, not smiling, but frowning a little less. He wasn't that broken, my dad was still there. And, you know, it felt nice when someone was on my side, especially my dad. I heard my mother sigh and I looked back at her.

She sat beside my uncle, folded her hands infront of her, and looked directly at me. She acted so professional sometimes for no reason. The mood in the room went from depressing to so tense you could punch a hole through it (at least to me).

"Well, I guess I'll go ahead and tell her then, since she's such an adult." This granted a grunt from my dad, but nothing else. "A little after 11 this morning, we found Katya's body. She'd been dead for at least an hour when we found her."

It was short and blunt. I don't like when my mom drags things on, she'll make a huge story out of it and I never seem to get the point; or she'll give me half the information, like the punchline without a joke. This time I wish it was long. So long that the news never came. That my aunt wasn't dead, at all. I felt tears start to roll down my face and I rubbed hard at them. I didn't know what to say. My throat clenched. All I could hear in my room was my sniffling and hiccups for a few seconds before my mom started talking to my dad.

"Is this what I get for treating her like an adult? A 'woman' crying like a baby?" I couldn't see any expressions, but I'd imagine a sarcastic one spread across my mom's face and an all-too-tired one on my dad's.

Suddenly, someone's hand slammed against the table and a chair roughly scraped against the floor. I wiped the tears that were blocking my vision to see my uncle standing, glaring accusingly at my mom. I started to think that it was in my defence when he started to speak.

"Why don't you tell her the truth?! Eh?! Tell her! Tell her how I killed my own wife!"

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><p>*Author's Note* Hiya! Sorry it took a while for this chapter. It took a while for me to be satisfied with it. ^^; Also, no, not every chapter will end like this. I'll just enjoy the suspense for the first few chapters. And, as I go along, the chapters will get a longer and, hopefully, more frequent. Also things will pick up. This won't be just a depressing series of angst.<p>

I think that's all for this chapter. Thanks 4

-Disclaimer- I do not own -Man, however this FanFiction is of my own creation.


	3. Thankgiving Special

I'm _grateful_ for (god why am I doing this):

Knives

Parrots

The color white

The color black

The color blue (Like my Aunt's)

Color in general, I guess

Rye bread

Individualism

Funny words like schmaltzy

Cool days where there's only frost or really thin snow

The above only you walk a path twice to act like you had a friend

My Uncle's magical fire

My mom being sober

The fact I don't really have anything wrong in my life

I mean, really, people focus on the bad things too much. They forget to appreciate the good things. I mean, of course you can focus on the bad, but there's good too! People have awesome friends, loving family; and people can be who they can be who they want to be. It's really stupid when people chose to be something they don't want to be. Yeah, there are some limitations. You can't be a dog, you can't make yourself be the ruler of a country, and you can't give yourself the perfect life. But the life you have, the experiences you go through, the path that you and 'fate' has put you on—you're a part of that! You influence it and you can interpret it to be the best ever. So yeah, be thankful for that. I am.

Author: It's funny you say this now but you're totally not gonna think that once a certain thing happens

Anya: Eh?

Author: Oh nothing Past-Anya

Anya: Okay, you've got me confused now *frowns*

Author: Nothing, thank you for your schmaltzy-ness! I personally am thankful for my family, my girlfriend, the ability to type, the fact that I have generally nothing wrong with me other than mild anxiety and IBS, and I am grateful that I can accurately see the good and lows in my life.


End file.
